


Her Hand (the One in Mine)

by Accidentallytechohazardous



Category: Bleach
Genre: Character Study, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 14:13:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1229464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accidentallytechohazardous/pseuds/Accidentallytechohazardous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s hard. People are hard. Existing is hard. Loving someone and not being able to hold their hand is hard, particularly someone like Momo, it seems. Rangiku wonders what Gin would say, if he were still around for her to ask his advice. Probably something massively unhelpful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Hand (the One in Mine)

Most people are really easy to understand, almost to a disappointing level. And though Rangiku can’t remember when her crowning moment of disillusionment was in her long life, she remembers a kind of indignation at the realization that people want things so much. She’s not sure what she was expecting, because it really shouldn’t be a surprise that people go through the world collecting stuff and ideas and other people like they collect souvenirs. It’s not like she doesn’t do the same thing.

 

So with this understanding in tow, its a little unfair that Rangiku keeps running into people who she doesn’t quite ‘get’. It makes her position as one of the most socially well-adjusted individuals in the Gotei feel a little redundant.

 

Momo doesn’t want to be held on a pedestal. She’s not a china doll that Rangiku needs to cradle in her hands and when she trips she doesn’t shatter upon impact with the ground.

 

Rangiku remembers one time she was watching a sparring match and Momo got hit. She crumpled to the ground in a collapsed heap and for a second Rangiku’s insides lit up like fire. She got this absurd notion that’d stomp across the area, swing her arms until something tried to come close enough for her to sink her claws into. She would rip them into unrecognizable shapes of flesh because that’s exactly how important everyone else was when Momo’s safety was on the line. Watching Momo get hurt was the kind of thing that made Rangiku want to be an animal.

 

She didn’t do that, though. She sat and watched as Shuuhei turned pale and ran over to apologize profusely and offer his hand. Momo sat up so quickly it was like watching the part in a horror movie where the dead come back to life and gave him a solid punch in the solar plexus. And from the floor, Shuuhei cussed her out in a way Rangiku had never seen Shuuhei talk to a woman and Momo laughed like it was the funniest joke in the world while blood dribbled from her nose in rivets. And Rangiku mentally reminded herself that Momo was a little shit, because that needed to be done sometimes.

 

On the other hand, Momo doesn’t want to be abandoned. Rangiku can sympathize. Which is how she knows that it’s not enough to simply promise she won’t leave, or if she does promise she had to do so every day. She has to promise every time Momo looks up at her from under a shoji screen of brunette bangs, every time she holds Momo’s tiny, petal-soft hand in hers. There has to be a promise in every thing she does.

 

Rangiku thought she could get this. Like, maybe after Isshin and Gin, she’d be totally onboard with the whole sticking together forever thing. But the truth is she doesn’t really know. She does know, for example, that it was a good thing that she didn’t let herself have feelings for her former captain, because she doesn’t think she could ever have given Isshin what he wanted.

 

Sometimes she wonders what it would be like if the roles were reversed. If she was the one who disappeared instead of Captain Shiba. Like she could have just slipped sideways and disappeared from the universe and left him and Hitsugaya to pick up the pieces.

And for a moment she thinks that she could have done exactly that and it terrified her. It haunts her at inopportune times, like when she steps out of the shower in Momo’s bathroom and she reaches out, absurdly expecting to find her own towel until she notices fine strands of black hair, because Momo’s not as neat as people seem to think she is.

 

And it strikes her, in a moment of surrealism, that this could be the rest of Rangiku’s life. She walks into the living room and sees Momo eating breakfast there, working the spoon in her yogurt and granola with the same artful efficiency she seems to do everything. And Rangiku can easily imagine this scene playing out the same way a year from now, or fifty, or a hundred. Shower, towel, yogurt, Momo.

 

It’s comforting and unsettling at the same time. When Momo notices her in the doorway and her eyes light up like the spark of fireworks, Rangiku is half-tempted to turn around and see who that look is really for. It feels like she’s playing someone else’s role. Because Momo should love someone who’s not selfish, who’s never thought about disappearing before someone else had the chance.

 

But Rangiku is nothing if not a firm believer in appreciating all life has to offer. She’s a glutton for the way Momo laughs like she doesn’t have the breath for it, the way she kisses the back of Rangiku’s neck as if Rangiku can’t tell Momo is standing right behind her, the way Momo’s head fits so neatly tucked under Rangiku’s chin, cheek resting against her sternum. And she tries really hard not to think about what would happen to Momo if Rangiku couldn’t come back to her one day, not because she didn’t want to but because bad things happen and few people know that better than the two of them.

 

So Rangiku wants to be there. But she recognizes that one day she won’t. It’s hard to wrap her head around. She wonders if Momo has already considered that, like maybe Aizen broke the part of her that trusts so wholesomely.

 

It’s hard. People are hard. Existing is hard. Loving someone and not being able to hold their hand is hard. Rangiku wonders what Gin would say, if he was still around for her to ask for his advice. Probably something massively unhelpful.

 

Momo doesn’t want to be underestimated. It easy to forget that such a sweet little thing like her is capable of creating fireballs and burning explosions that eat away at matter and leave charred husks in their wake. And Momo knows this. She knows exactly what people think of her, whisper behind her back. Its easy for them to look at her and see broken goods instead of a survivor. Rangiku has to make sure they don’t forget, remind them that Momo is a war hero, goddammit.

 

Rangiku knows she doesn’t really need to, though. Momo’s powerful enough without her, without anyone when it comes right down to it, if only they’d give her the chance and stop standing in her way. Even something as docile as a campfire can be lethal when fed enough fuel, a stick of dynamite is a tool for mankind up until the fuse burns down and the resulting explosion becomes its own master.

 

And the most dangerous thing about Momo isn’t that she can burn buildings, or that she has the mind of a tactician. Her most powerful weapon is the intensity of her caring. The sheer weight of it is powerful. The fact that Momo cares so much is the kind of thing that makes people around her want to be worth caring about.

 

Rangiku wishes Momo were more careful with her kindness, sometimes. Because naturally she has no idea what she does to people. Rangiku used to be so good at hiding her feelings, even on those days when doing so feels difficult. When work turns on her and fate turns on her and even her friends, volatile people as they are, turn on her. And the past, though she always does her best to move on, sure that if she marches far enough it will make the aches in her heart fade away and feel more like memories and less like battle scars, also turns on her.

 

And Momo will be there, a book on her lap and her fingers between her soft lips, which occasionally pulled back to reveal marble-white teeth. She bites them down to the nub when she’s nervous, and the taste of ink, parchment, and dirt trapped under her nails makes her nose scrunch up and deepens the indent between her furrowed brows.

 

When Momo notices Rangiku is there and the world comes crashing back into existence right after her, her face will turn soft and understanding again. Rangiku’s heart hurts from fondness, it fucking bleeds with affection for that face.

 

“What’s wrong?” Momo will ask, because Momo knows. Momo always knows when it comes to Rangiku. Because Momo always assumes the best of people, gives them the benefit of the doubt. She understands that they’re complicated.

 

If it were anyone else, it would be so easy for Rangiku to say it was nothing. She’s never been happier, which is true. She’s never felt so.. nuanced, either. Momo makes her emotions feel poignant, unignorable now that there’s somebody to not ignore them.

 

So Rangiku meets herself halfways. She shrugs, “The usual. No biggie.” And pulls herself up to the window ledge to sit next to Momo. And Momo will look back down at her book, and she’ll hold Rangiku’s hand without being asked, and if she happens to read a line in her book that she thinks is especially beautiful she’ll read it out loud for Rangiku to hear.


End file.
